


Young Buck

by wearemany



Series: Rookies [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2013-2014 NHL Season, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Manchester Monarchs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearemany/pseuds/wearemany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t get over an embarrassing series of adolescent crushes on hockey players by going out and finding a girlfriend.</p><p>
  <i>"Being a Kitchener boy, I always watched Mike Richards growing up when he played for the Rangers," Pearson said.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Buck

**Author's Note:**

> This got really dirty really fast, right about the time I realized how little time and energy I’d ever spent before wondering how Richie gets people who aren’t Carts to sleep with him. 
> 
> Warning (I guess) for reference to a young teenager having (unacknowledged and unrequited) sexual thoughts about an older guy. Nothing actually happens until everyone’s a consenting adult. 
> 
> So, ETA for context: Tanner Pearson, Linden Vey and Tyler Toffoli are the three top players for the LA Kings’ AHL affiliate, the Manchester Monarchs. Toffoli and Pearson played a little during last year's playoffs; all of them performed well at training camp this year and have gotten called up due to half the Kings getting hurt this month. Pearson was at one point [an actual water boy for the Kitchener Rangers](http://www.therecord.com/sports-story/2592241-former-rangers-waterboy-makes-a-splash-in-barrie/), where Richie [had played](http://network.yardbarker.com/nhl/article_external/pearsons_unlikely_nhl_dream_continues/11371114).
> 
> Takes place during this year’s training camp. Includes a tiny hint of Pearson/Toffoli/Vey and Richards/Carter.

"Jesus," Mike Richards says, "you sure grew up."

Tanner shrugs and says, "Happens," because Richards actually _remembers_ him, which makes him want to crawl back to his hotel room and die.

He was 13 the first time he saw Richards crowd the net and stuff in a dirty goal, and he woke up the in the middle of the night, legs tangled in sticky flannel sheets. Nothing about training camp is as hard as playing it cool right now.

Richards squints at him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"Well," he says.

He shakes his head, slow and skeptical, but it's the truth and Tanner doesn't know how else he's supposed to answer something that's on his stats sheet. At least when it comes to height and weight everybody's in on the lie together.

"Well," Richards starts again. "Let me buy you a drink."

+

If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be sitting on Mike Richards' couch, he wouldn't have believed it.

He barely believes it now, as Mike slaps an ice cold bottle of beer into his palm, settling in beside him. He was lucky to get drafted at all, was dead confused at getting picked so early by the Kings.

Hell, if someone had told him back in May, during those five queasy minutes against San Jose, that Richards would ever even acknowledge his presence, he wouldn't have believed it. His first NHL ice time and Richards had given him nothing but a cool, flat stare as he scanned each face on the bench. No smiles for anyone. None of them worth it for the shit they were playing out there that night. Whenever Tanner wanted to sack in after a long training session, that was the face he saw.

Tanner’s a little buzzed from the bar, though it mellowed during the walk back along the beach. The house is like something out of a TV show, all glass and sunshine. Mike keeps asking him soft, prodding questions about Manchester, about people back in Kitchener. There’s a soft smirk on the edge of his mouth like he knows Tanner’s barely keeping up, like it’s obvious he’s out of his league in every way possible.

He’s staring at Mike’s knee when he realizes no one’s talked in at least a minute, maybe more, and when he glances up Mike’s smirk gives way to a low laugh, not the loud mocking cackle of a locker room chirp but something quieter. Something more personal, maybe just for him.

Mike’s hand is resting on the waistband of his shorts, a thumb tucked in against his stomach. One finger taps idly against the material, and the zipper is stretched tight across his crotch. Tanner’s face gets hot, fast, and he knows it’s flushed red. Not even Mike’s bare knee seems safe to look at now, tanned muscles curving strong around the bone and up into his thighs. Oh fuck.

“Hey,” Mike says, gentle, and when Tanner inhales it’s loud and obvious and he’d never have believed this could happen either but he knows what it is.

“Let me,” he says, and slides down to his knees as smoothly as he can manage, the coffee table pressed in a hard line across his lower back. Mike makes a surprised grunting noise, maybe even impressed, as he allows his own hands to be knocked away so Tanner can get his shorts open, get his dick out, get down to it.  

Nothing’s come easy for Tanner, but this much he figured out way back. He doesn’t need Mike to be nice about it, either, so he sucks hard, swallows around him and digs his stubby nails into Mike’s hip.

“Fuck,” Mike says, and it’s less gentle now. “You actually know what you’re doing,” he says.

Well, yeah. He didn’t get over an embarrassing series of adolescent crushes on hockey players by going out and finding a girlfriend.

Mike touches his cheek, thumb under his jaw, and Tanner looks up. “Want me to fuck you?” Mike says, and it’s clearly only on the table because Tanner passed this test. But if that’s the going offer, the answer is _hell yes_.

He doesn’t trust himself to talk, just nods and tries not to lose his balance as he gets up. Mike steadies him with a hand on his waist, guiding him out of the way so there’s room for Mike to stand and lead him upstairs.

Apparently he also earned an upgrade to the bedroom. If he stops too long to think about what’s happening this isn’t going to end how he wants so he tries to focus on shutting the hell up and taking off his clothes.

Mike’s sitting naked on the edge of the bed, and Tanner shuffles closer. He has a lot more tattoos than Tanner remembers from all the not-looking he did in the dressing room, and his shoulders are broad, solid, strong across his chest in a way that only reinforces that Mike isn’t still growing into his body. Tanner’s really only fucked around with guys his own age or younger, and some of them were bossier than others. But if he’s sure of one thing right now it’s that he’s not the one in charge of how this is going to play out.

“Come here,” Mike says, and pulls Tanner in until he has to get his knees up under him, until he’s straddling Mike. Mike stretches up to kiss him, both arms steady around Tanner’s bare back, and Tanner slides his hand into Mike’s curly hair and hangs on. It’s a hundred times more overwhelming than having been on his knees with Mike’s cock in his mouth. Tanner’s had sex plenty but it all feels pretty juvenile right now in comparison.

Mike sticks two fingers in Tanner’s mouth and he sucks automatically, gets sloppier and wetter when he realizes what Mike’s going to do with them. He hooks both arms around Mike’s neck, lifting himself up a little, and Mike’s cock gets harder between them as Mike fingers him.

“All right?” Mike asks after a while, a quiet drawl of a question. He was always mouthy during games, directing all the players around him, arguing every penalty call, but Tanner never heard him much off the ice, his commentary always pitched low and private to a teammate, or a sharp obedient nod to a coach’s question.  

Mike nudges Tanner’s chin with his nose, breathing heavy as he waits for an answer, and Tanner says, “Yeah, whenever,” because he’s ready for this. He thinks he’s ready for this.

Mike huffs a short laugh and says, “Fine then,” flipping Tanner onto his back and shoving him farther up the bed. He rests his weight on Tanner’s chest as he digs around for actual lube and a condom, which is the other way Tanner can tell this is actual grown-up sex, the real shit between adults and not the kind of fucking around where if you don’t talk about it, you don’t have to talk about it. That’s probably been a bad habit to fall into, especially with his linemates.

“Spread your legs a little more,” Mike says, and Tanner has to close his eyes and breathe steady and even, steady and even, steady and even as Mike picks up where he left off, except it feels like maybe he added another finger or possibly the thumb of his other hand. Tanner’s not going to ask.

He opens his eyes when Mike pulls back, drawing the condom down and twisting a wet hand over his cock before leaning forward again. Tanner nods and Mike pushes in, hard and fast right off the bat, nothing sweet about it now that he’s gotten going. He scratches his chin across Tanner’s collarbone, leaving a wake of pink welts on his way to bite at Tanner’s neck. They’re both slick and sweaty, hot summer sunshine on the bed through open curtains.

Hell, the bedroom door stands wide open, the hallway and stairs right behind it. Tanner’s not sure he’s ever gotten fucked in a bed without the door locked. Anyone could walk in. Carter probably has a key, could show up and let himself in and if he came upstairs the first thing he’d see is Mike’s ass, Mike pounding into him. Maybe he’d just watch or maybe they could all—fuck, maybe that’s something that happens even at this level, long past any plausible excuse he and Ty and Veysy have been using.

He groans at the idea and it’s lower than he usually sounds, rougher, rougher still when Mike puts his weight on the back of Tanner’s thigh for leverage. He pants into Tanner’s ear, cursing low, breath hot on Tanner’s fiery skin and holy shit, Mike Richards is fucking him like nothing else in the world matters at that moment and Tanner does not care what happens after, does not give a single fuck if he spends his entire career trying not to get hard in the middle of a game.

Mike’s abs press against the underside of Tanner’s cock and he comes, wind knocked out of him, sucking air from between his teeth like a good clean hit put him down hard. Mike squeezes his thighs, pushing deeper, and Tanner has just enough strength left to push his hips up and bear down and Mike says, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and comes.

The curls around his neck are wet and Tanner lets himself hold one hand there briefly, Mike’s cheekbone angled into Tanner’s shoulder. When Mike lifts himself up, his arms shake, and more than anything, that makes Tanner want to pump his fist and call everyone he knows and tell them every detail. He won’t, obviously, _obviously_ , but for a minute he feels like he has something to be proud of.

Mike rolls off, kicking at Tanner’s ankle. “That how you always imagined it?” he asks, like he’s pretty fucking proud of himself, too, and Tanner laughs. An hour ago he would’ve punched himself in the face before copping to a kid’s crush, but it’s easy to admit it now.

“Not bad,” he says, cheesy grin stretching his lips wide. Mike swats his face, palm damp and pressed against Tanner’s mouth. “Pretty good,” he says when Mike takes his hand away.

“It’s gonna be harder than you think,” Mike says, serious now, and Tanner nods, equally serious. It always is. He didn’t get this far expecting it to be easy. Mike relaxes back into the pillows, eyes falling shut. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll do fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> _[@MRichie_10:](http://twitter.com/MRichie_10/statuses/401224866600591360) Congrats to @tannerpearson14 on his first NHL goal. Come a long way since I first met you as a young buck hanging around the Aud in kitch_
> 
>  
> 
> [More rambling about Richie at my Tumblr.](http://dazzlingheroes.tumblr.com)


End file.
